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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27897343">A Court of Scars and Shadows</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/KTB29/pseuds/KTB29'>KTB29</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>ACOWAR, Abusive Relationships, Child Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Illyrian, Illyrian Camps, Misogyny, Mountains, Running Away, Survival, The Court of Dreams (ACoTaR), The Court of Nightmares (ACoTaR), Velaris, Wings, acofas - Freeform, acomaf, feysand, illyrian babies</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 17:15:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,508</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27897343</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/KTB29/pseuds/KTB29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p><b> ON TEMPORARY HIATUS DUE TO SHITTY PERSONAL CIRCUMSTANCES </b><br/>Azriel had spent months coaxing Elain back to her former self during and after the war against Hybern. He had slowly fallen in love with the quiet, gentle female, and had stupidly, so idiotically, expected her to choose him over a mating bond.<br/>He was wrong, of course; no one ever picked him. He was nobody's first choice, always an afterthought.<br/>Resigning himself to a life in the shadows, he expects to spend eternity alone- but upon meeting a small, Illyrian female, he's not so sure anymore.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Azriel &amp; Cassian &amp; Rhysand (ACoTaR), Azriel/Original Character, Elain Archeron/Lucien Vanserra, Feyre Archeron &amp; Morrigan, Feyre Archeron &amp; Morrigan &amp; Original Character, Feyre Archeron/Rhysand, Nesta Archeron/Cassian, Rhysand &amp; Lucien Vanserra</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>98</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue: The Stars that didn't listen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Welcome to my fic :) I've been imagining an OC to fit in the ACOTAR universe, and also my baby Az needed a mate so we have this!<br/>I hope you like my character- she's been in my head for a while now, begging to come out.</p><p>Enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p><b>Illyria, 10 years after the war</b><br/>
Thorns and brambles caught at her feet as she fled through the rough undergrowth. The sky was ominously clouded, a depressing and grim shade of grey, covering any hint of those brilliant stars she so loved to fly amongst. The stars she had wished to, night after night, praying that this day wouldn’t come. </p><p>They had not heard her pleas.</p><p>Her strong, supple wings aided her escape, gave her speed and power as she ran and jumped and glided close to the ground.</p><p>Staying low, so that the cruel bolts they fired at her, at her wings, did not find their mark.</p><p>Once she had loved these wings, the hours spent high above the camp. Racing her friends- faster than any of the males, flying up and up and up until she was so high, she thought she could hold one of the stars in her delicate, tanned hands.</p><p>They raced after her, those males from her clan. Some followed on foot, tracking her scent, trying to box her in so they could cage her like an animal. Others flew high above, silhouetted against the steel clouds, scouring the barren mountains of Illyria for a small, winged girl, fleeing from her own people.</p><p>She had known the morning it had started. She had awoken to red staining her sheets and had known that her life was over. The life she had come to love, wild freedom and grace as she shot through clouds. She would never fly again- she knew that much. It had been a disappointment to her family that her cycles had not come on earlier, had not started until her 19th birthday. It was tradition in her clan and so many others, not to clip the females until their first bleeding.</p><p>Slowly raising herself onto her elbows, she had turned to see her mother standing in the doorway- pale and quivering. Bruises blossomed across her face, courtesy of her father, and her brow had furrowed as tears slid down her porcelain cheeks. She bore the crude scars across the main tendons of her wings- a brutal reminder of the day she too had stopped tasting the wind. She had prepared herself for the worst, had braced herself for her mother to grab her before she could flee. Her shock was tangible as her mother surveyed her once, gave her a soft smile, and whispered- </p><p>“Run.”</p><p>So she had.</p><p>The males had scented the blood on her as she fled through the village, had already begun the chase before her father had been alerted. If he didn’t catch her, he would be shunned, his status as a warrior brought into question.</p><p>How could he control a legion if he couldn’t even control a weak, useless female?</p><p>The last time she had seen her mother, she had been screaming. Crying and weeping and reaching after her only daughter as the males noticed that she hadn’t tried to stop her from running. Begging for mercy as they began pummelling her again. And again. And again, until her screams stopped echoing through the idyllic mountains, until she lay on the floor in the cold, barren camp, broken beyond repair.</p><p>An icy rage had gripped her then, had made her want to kill the males that had taken her mother, but even through the red wall of anger, she knew that they would kill her too. She did not want to die. </p><p>The brutal gash that now covered half her face was still bleeding. A lucky swipe by one of the younger, less experienced males as she had fled across their camp. An unhinged laugh escaped her lips- this was how she would die. Her immortal life would end after 19 short years- murdered by one of her own. Her lungs were rasping, legs fatiguing, and the weakness penetrating every inch of her body was only becoming heavier and heavier, her legs feeling more and more limp. A steep incline- she was at the base of another mountain, and even worse, the first snow of the season had begun. Dressed in nothing but rags, she would be dead by sunrise.</p><p>The males on her tail had silenced- perhaps she had lost them. She just hoped she died before they caught her. The torture and pain they would inflict, and the cruel male she would be sold to- there was no light in a life such as that.</p><p>Her knees finally gave out after running all day, the last semblance of self-preservation draining from her body, her soul, as she lay on the cold earth. Fine snowflakes settled on her wings, her hair, her eyelashes. She retreated into her mind, imagining summer days spent in a warm glen, wishing for a world in which she could live and be free- a place she would have choice.</p><p>The Illyrian mountains were so beautiful, so peaceful. It was a shame the same couldn’t be said of her people. Well- the males. </p><p>And the fucking High Lord that did nothing at all to stop it. Perfect <i>Rhysand</i>, martyr of his people.</p><p>It seemed he only gave a shit about the females in his court that didn’t have wings. She would have thought his High Lady, Feyre, would give a damn. Maybe they didn’t know. Maybe they didn’t care.</p><p>She wished her father had never come home from the war against Hybern. She wished all of them had been slaughtered.</p><p>A sliver of night sky was visible between the menacing clouds, and through it- a shooting star. A final gift sent to her by a merciful god, bidding her farewell as her life began to drift away in the mountain breeze. She pressed her eyes shut, and <i>wished</i>.</p><p>19 years of rage and pain were swirling through her mind as she fell into a deep, impenetrable sleep.</p><p>Had she been conscious for mere minutes longer, she would have felt the strong hands that gripped her under her arms. She would have seen the group of females- <i>winged females</i>- and perhaps a spark of hope would have rekindled in her shattered heart.</p><p>But she did not. So she sank, unwaking and unmoving, into the depths of her despair.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Dreams that weren't answered</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Azriel watches Velaris, mourning the loss of a female that was never his to begin with.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Azriel sat alone on the rooftop of the Velaris townhouse. While he and his family lived in the enormous residence Feyre and Rhys had built for all of them, he still came here when he needed to breathe. </p><p>It still hadn’t settled in for him- not really. He didn’t know what he should have expected, but… he had hoped, nonetheless. It had left him looking like a fool, just as it always did. </p><p>Even the night sky seemed lonely tonight- the usual warmth that normally filled him under starlight was muted, pensive. The chill winter breeze crept along his wings and settled in his spine, sending tremors through his body. He wouldn’t yield to his base emotions- how he wanted to roar at Lucien for taking her from him-</p><p>No. He knew that wasn’t right, that wasn’t the male that he was. It had been her choice. She did not belong to anyone- least of all a worthless shadowsinger such as himself. Elain was a female of quiet light, of tending and nurturing and growing. He was…</p><p>He was the darkness, the wind, the scars on his hands. He was the gap between worlds, a wraith that was just as likely to fade into shadow as he was to offer someone a kind word. He was no one and nothing, and he would remain that way until the Mother came to beckon him into the after world.</p><p>“Brooding again, you old bastard?”</p><p>A solid, winged weight plopped down next to him on the roof. Azriel didn’t reply to Cassian, just continued staring out at the stars framing the Velaris skyline. He’d have to remind Feyre to paint it.</p><p>“Come on, Az. Everyone’s down at the house and we’re starving. I want to eat some time in the next century.”</p><p>“Pig.”</p><p>Cassian laughed, shifting his broad shoulders, and blowing a breath into the chill air. “Careful brother, or you’ll start to sound like Nesta.”</p><p>Azriel snorted half heartedly at that. The pair had finally mated seven years ago, after Nesta had been dragged kicking and screaming to the Illyrian camps. They had both returned… changed in a way that neither Azriel nor Rhys could quite describe. Nesta could still be… challenging, but she had worked hard to become a part of the family. </p><p>“I know that Elain had grown important to you, Az.” Cassian had suddenly turned serious, his hazel eyes staring determinedly into the distance. He’d never been comfortable with emotional speeches. Azriel closed his eyes, shadows rolling behind him at the sudden influx of emotion and pain. His shoulders curved almost imperceptibly downwards, but of course Cassian noticed.</p><p>“For a long time… for a very long time I didn’t think there was anyone for me. Neither did Rhys. I was content to live the rest of my days with my two bastard brothers,” Cassian nudged Azriel’s arm, “the busybody, Mor, and the actual terror Amren. A mate is a blessing, but not necessary. You can be happy brother. We all love you and anyways,” he stood, wings flaring, “I reckon you’ll be the kid’s favourite uncle.” He sprang from the rooftop, soaring up over Velaris back towards the house- no, the <i>mansion</i>- that now housed his family.</p><p>He supposed Cassian was right. He was definitely going to be the favourite uncle to Rhys’s son. It was only another few months until he was due anyway- plenty of time to practise his babysitting game.</p><p>Azriel too stood from his perch on the roof and flexed his wings. He looked straight down to the bustling street below, full of city dwellers enjoying the Winter solstice season. Solstice itself was still a couple of weeks away, but the people of Velaris were keen to find a reason to celebrate since the horrors they’d endured during the reign of Amarantha and the siege of Hybern. </p><p>Looking down like this… his gut clenched. Learning to fly, for him, had been harder than for most. After walking hand in hand with darkness and speaking to the shadows for so long, taking to the bright, clear, open skies had been terrifying. His fear had built and built and finally peaked when that prick Cassian had taken it upon himself to throw him off a cliff. His Illyrian instincts had kicked in then, of course, and he had banked beautifully and soared right back up to the top of that cliff, with Rhys and Cassian whooping and cheering. </p><p>He’d then dive bombed the pair and royally kicked their asses.</p><p>Azriel stepped off the roof and swept his wings open in a graceful motion. He’d return to the house soon, apologising for his abrupt exit, but for now he needed to fly. Needed to feel the cool kiss of the air on his skin. Needed to at least try to let go of the gorgeous fae female, sitting hand in hand with her mate barely a street away. It made his blood boil.</p><p>Soaring over the rainbow, he attempted to clear his mind. Admiring the art and hearing the music was one of his guilty pleasures; no one expected someone as dark as himself to love the bright lights and spirits of the artists’ quarter. </p><p>Almost fully immersed in the bombardment of sounds and smells and colours of the vibrant city, he had almost forgotten that cursed Archeron sister when his hand brushed the hilt of Truth Teller.</p><p>A memory, clear as a vision, flashed through his mind.</p><p>
  <i>He could not fight- not in this battle. The most important battle yet, and he was injured. He did not for one second regret rescuing Elain, but wished that things had gone differently.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>She looked so lost, a rose bloom out of place amongst the mud and blood and death of war. Nesta fitted right in, with her cold grey stare and ramrod straight posture, and his High Lady had seemingly been born to fight alongside them, but Elain… she was too pure, too good for this life she had been thrown into. So defenceless.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>It was not a difficult decision- not at all. He unsheathed Truth-Teller and started towards the female.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>He would surrender this blade for nothing and no one less.</i>
</p><p>Fuck. Again, he had drifted into the cursed realm of his traitorous imagination. Lucien would likely attempt to kill him if he ever caught wind of the exact nature of his feelings towards his mate. Shaking his head, Azriel banked and began to fly back towards his home.</p><p>He landed gracefully at the grand oak front door- and froze. How did he explain away his sudden absence? How could he look Elain in the eye?</p><p>His procrastinating was cut off as Feyre opened the door and smiled at him. She was glowing- sometimes literally- with her pregnancy. Her loose grey trousers and one of Rhys’s shirts made him grin; such a stickler for protocol, his High Lady. Rhys came up behind her and pushed the door open further, giving his Spymaster a friendly nod before beckoning him inside.</p><p>So much for getting a chance to prepare an excuse.</p><p>Following Feyre and Rhys into their main sitting room, he took in the cosy scene. A large spread of food was laid out on the centre table, already half devoured. So much for waiting for him. Amren was lounging in the largest, softest armchair in the room, idly flicking through an ancient looking text. It most likely contained a large number of heinous spells and curses, knowing Amren’s reading habits. Mor was sprawled, unconscious, before the fire, an empty bottle of red wine clutched in one of her hands.</p><p>Nesta and Cassian were curled together on a sofa, both whispering to each other. Though Cassian continued murmuring to Nesta, Azriel knew his complete focus was on him. Feyre and Rhys settled themselves back into another sofa, Rhys’s hand protectively wrapped around Feyre’s swollen stomach. She leaned his head back into his chest contentedly.</p><p>And Elain… she was looking at him worriedly with those beautiful doe’s eyes, one hand clutched in Lucien’s.</p><p>When she had left for the mortal lands with Lucien three months prior, he had not expected them to… It was merely emissary work for their Court; establish the intentions of the remaining human queens and to feedback any information they could glean. She had previously spoken about him with such indifference that he had almost been too confident. He had never suggested to her or to anyone that they should be anything more; he had been waiting for her to make a move.</p><p>He now knew why she never had.</p><p>They had returned that afternoon, both smiling and with their scents ingrained into each other- </p><p>He had taken off before even saying hello, grim panic and pain wrapping around his gut.</p><p>“Azriel, did Nuala and Cerridwen have anything important to report back?” Feyre had lifted her head and was looking at him with an expression he couldn’t quite decipher.</p><p>What did she mean? He had not met with Nuala and-</p><p>
  <i>Oh.</i>
</p><p>Bless his High Lady. He was thankful every single day that it was her, her that had been Rhys’s mate. She was giving him an excuse, a way out. </p><p>“Nothing interesting, I’m afraid. My spies were just reporting anything unusual they had noticed in the Illyrian Mountains recently- nothing urgent.” He shot her a grateful look, and she responded with a subtle wink.</p><p>A piss poor lie, but the only person he really needed to convince bought it. Elain’s demeanour relaxed, and she smiled at him in relief. He had to bite his tongue and control his body language as Lucien’s arm snaked around his mate’s shoulders- and she leaned into his touch.</p><p>What had happened in the mortal lands to change her opinion on Lucien so drastically?</p><p>It didn’t matter, he told himself. As long as she was happy.</p><p>She had made her choice.</p><p>Azriel sat with his family for the rest of the night, staring mindlessly into the flames crackling merrily in the fireplace. Mor remained passed out, a standard behaviour for her, Amren went back to her apartment with a cursory farewell, and Rhys and Feyre vanished to their own quarters. Elain and Lucien and Nesta and Cassian had followed suit.</p><p>He remained in that chair, staring into the fire, even after Mor had awoken, grumbled a string of expletives, and staggered off to her bed. Sitting alone, Azriel felt, for the first time in over 400 years, that he no longer belonged in his own family. He was going to spend the rest of his immortal existence yearning for a female that would never be his.</p><p>Sinking further into the chair, he finally let the shadows take over.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. A new type of cage</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Waking up disoriented and alone, the young female must face her captors- or rescuers.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She felt the tug of consciousness on her mind as voices echoed around her. All hushed, all female. She didn’t understand- was this death? Had she passed easily and peacefully into the Mother’s embrace?</p><p>A few seconds later, she received her answer. The waves of pain radiating from her face told her she was still very much in the land of the living. But if she was alive, then… who were the females with her? None of the voices sounded familiar, and judging by the softer material pressing into her back, she was somewhere… safe?</p><p>“We know you’re awake, young one. You can open your eyes.”</p><p>Slowly raising her lids, she was greeted by a host of three Illyrian females, watching her warily. She seemed to be in a small, cave-like room, seeming to be hewn from the same stone that composed the Illyrian mountains.</p><p>She was laid, on her side, on a soft sheet, wings sprawled behind her. She’d never felt… never felt anything as soft as this in her life. It was decadent.</p><p>“Hey. Kid.”</p><p>Her eyes flicked around the room, quickly analysing the females, searching for an escape route. Calculating how the hell she was going to get past these Illyrians without being restrained. The female that had spoken was sitting on the floor close to her head, her golden-brown eyes boring into her own. A quick glance at the two others told her they all had eyes of varying shades of brown, all had dark hair in differing textures, and all had the same tanned skin as herself. </p><p>“Who… who are you?” She needed answers- why was she alone with females? If the males had caught her, she’d be locked up in some dingy cell, but the Illyrians must have caught her because she was here with… Illyrians?</p><p>“We’re friends.” One of the younger females had spoken, walking forward towards her. She had wild, curly hair, much like her own, her hazel eyes calm and soothing, but she still didn’t trust them. She reflexively shrank further back against the wall, survival instincts kicking in. These people would hurt her, they were here to take her wings, to take her to the males-</p><p>The female suddenly stopped moving closer, throwing her an apologetic glance as she scented her pure terror.</p><p>The Illyrian closest to her told her sympathetically, “We want to help you. We patched up your… your face as best we could, but… it’s going to leave a scar.”</p><p>A scar? She almost laughed out loud. Her entire body was <i>peppered</i> with scars- what was one more?</p><p>A third female, leaning against the hard stone wall, didn’t look at her as she asked, “What’s your name?”</p><p>Her name. Did it even matter? Would they be able to inform her clan if she told then- were they already going to hand her back anyway? The female with the wild hair, seeing her concerns, spoke again.</p><p>“If you’re worried about who we’re with, rest assured we bear no affiliation to those war-mongering males. We only remain in these mountains, in this damn <i>Court</i>, since we have no other place to go. What is your name.” It was a demand, as if she too didn’t trust her intentions and believed her to be an Illyrian loyalist.</p><p>“Khalida.” </p><p>It didn’t matter. She spat her name out, as if she couldn’t stand to acknowledge who she was. She was no one and nothing, and she deserved whatever fate came from her stupidity.</p><p>The wild one relaxed and smiled. “Nice to meet you, Khalida.” The others murmured their assent, smiling gently at the young, broken female.</p><p>Khalida suddenly felt so, so tired. She registered one of the Illyrians muttering that the healing potion was beginning to affect her again, and she locked eyes with the wild female once more before sleep came to sweep her away.</p><p>When she next awoke- it could have been days, weeks, or months for all she knew, she was alone in the small cave. A small fire crackled merrily in the corner, filling the space with light and warmth, and a thick blanket covered her small body. Attempting to raise herself up onto her elbows, she grunted as a stabbing pain shot through her head. Her tongue was rough and brittle in her mouth.</p><p>Right. Water.</p><p>The world spun as Khalida carefully stood, hands braced firmly on the cool stone of the wall. Small steps. Her wings dragged feebly on the floor as she staggered away from her make-shift bed, trying to find any of the females that had helped her. She hadn’t let her wings touch the floor in this way since she had been a small girl; she had always been proud of her strong, rigid posture. The males hadn’t liked it so much, of course- females were meant to bow their heads and keep their wings low in subservience, picture perfect wives.</p><p>Perfect, pretty packages, for any male to mount whenever he wished. Anger once again pooling in her blood, she almost didn’t notice the glint of water in the back of the cave. The rage abated as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by an animalistic thirst. Falling to her knees before the pool, Khalida was about to drink when she caught a glimpse of her reflection. All sense of thirst drained from her body as she saw… as she locked onto-</p><p>Her face.<i> Her fucking face</i>. It was- it was more than just a scar. More than any of the wounds she had received, from any of her previous beatings. It was a jagged gash, started just above her browbone, cutting down past the outside of her eye- just missing it- then curved down to the corner of her mouth. </p><p>It was… it was horrendous. That male had carved his blade into her face and she had been too terrified, too cold to even notice.</p><p>Despite herself, Khalida felt a deep sense of sorrow. She had never regarded herself as beautiful, by any means, but had naively held onto the sliver of hope that maybe one day… she’d find someone that would love her truly, someone she could love in return. No one would love her now. No one would love a broken female.<br/>
It was a stupid childhood dream, but watching it slip away hurt, nonetheless. Two tears slipped down her cheeks, brutal and cold. They stung as they fell over the still healing wound that covered half of her face.</p><p>“I see you’re up and about. Took you long enough.” The female with the curls, that smelled of the wind and freedom. “You want to tell me how you got that wound? It’s an impressive one, even by Illyrian standards.” She stood a small distance away, arms folded, leaning against the wall casually. She wore Illyrian leather pants and a form fitting black undershirt, with a wicked dagger sheathed at her side.</p><p>Something about the female… it put Khalida at ease. The grim understanding in her eyes, perhaps. Or maybe it was the brutal scars that covered her slim but muscled arms. The intact wings. It was not trust, not yet, but… perhaps the foundations of something similar.</p><p>So she told her every piece of her worthless story. Her hands trembled as she spoke the worse parts, the darkest moments out loud, and sometimes they wandered to the raised wound marring her face. The female did not attempt to come any closer, only stood by the wall, eyes gentle and listening. There was no judgement as Khalida told her how she had continued to flee, even as they murdered her defenceless mother, even as she had thought they would eventually catch her anyway. The female did not flinch, did not falter, did not shy away.</p><p>When she had finally finished telling her story, the female didn’t speak for a long while, seemingly deep in thought. Khalida waited and waited, face heating as she eventually stood to leave. Her path away was blocked by a slim, tanned arm.</p><p>“My name is Enfys.” Offering a small smile to Khalida, she said nothing more, turning on her heel and stalking away towards the cave exit, her smooth gait unfaltering.</p><p>This female walked like a warrior.</p><p>As it turned out, all three of the females were warriors. The others were called Aella and Vada, and they had somehow fled their respective clans. All of them had got away with their wings intact. </p><p>Khalida guessed she was the fourth.</p><p>She spent days with the females, slowly coming out of her shell, growing stronger as the females took her hunting under the cover of darkness, taught her how to use a blade and a bow. Spending time with them, she began to understand and respect them more and more.</p><p>Aella had fled her clan years prior, after being held captive by a male for over 15 years. She was kind and laughed brightly, her chocolate brown eyes full of warmth and light. She had lived alone in the wilderness for several years before coming across Vada. The quiet, reserved female had escaped a life of breeding and solitude from a neighbouring clan to her own.</p><p>Enfys was the most recent to join them. She had left her camp for similar reasons to Khalida’s. She didn't seem like she wanted to talk about it.</p><p>The females all worked together, bound by the grim understanding that they were likely the only four females to ever escape the life dictated by Illyrian culture. It was freeing, and yet Khalida couldn’t sleep.</p><p>It wasn’t only the fear of being caught- that had largely abated as she had come to understand how secluded they were, only hunting by night, sheltering in their large cave by day. It was the knowledge that, while she owed no one anything… she was a coward. Instead of fighting for her sisters, still held captive within their own fruitless lives, ruled by cruel males, restricted from training, and fighting and even <i>flying</i>-</p><p>She hid in the cold, mountain caves, watched distantly as Illyria grew colder and colder as solstice drew closer. Knew that her camp would be alive with activity, the females sewing and cooking and tending to the warriors as they prepared for the grand feast. Winter solstice was the main event of the year. This would be the first year she hadn't celebrated it.</p><p>She wondered how many of them too looked up to the stars and wished.</p><p>Her freedom was merely a new type of cage.</p><p>Aella and Vada remained oblivious to her internal struggles, yet Enfys again seemed to understand.</p><p>Sitting under a clear night sky, Khalida decided that she was not done. She had heard of the audiences the High Lord gave his subjects twice a year; always held in his city of starlight. Strange how this one city had thrived, had prospered, while her people had been subjected to ever crueller conditions. The females were the ones that suffered, and not enough had been done to help them. </p><p>“You know that the General of the Illyrian forces is overseeing a female training programme in several camps?” Enfys had asked when Khalida had told her of her anger.</p><p>“Yes, <i>several camps</i>, but there’s over 400 in the mountains alone! If the High Lord and his circle don’t stop pretending the smaller camps are no concern, more and more females will die.”</p><p>“I’m not saying I don’t agree with you, but- what more can they do? They’ve outlawed clipping wings, it’s our own males that continue to do it to us-“</p><p>“I’m going to go to Velaris.” Khalida had only decided on this plan as she spoke the words out loud. To her credit, Enfys didn’t look shocked, didn’t immediately shoot down the idea.</p><p>“How are you planning on getting there?”</p><p>For the first time since she had escaped the horrors of her previous life, Khalida grinned, eyes sparkling with mischief.</p><p>“I’m going to need your help.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Among the frost and starlight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Azriel enjoys the Solstice celebrations in Velaris, but is awoken in the night by an unfamiliar presence.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for all the kudos and comments! I notice every single one and it's a huge motivator so thank you so much!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Solstice had finally arrived, and with it the scandalous celebrations and partying enjoyed by everyone across Prythian. Drinking, dancing, feasting- it was endless. Especially in the City of Starlight. The Night Court was always beautiful, but Winter Solstice was Azriel’s particular favourite. The annual layer of snow had settled across every rooftop as far as the eye could see, a blanket of pure crystal white, reflecting the vibrant colours radiating from every pore of his home.</p><p>He wished he had someone to celebrate it with.</p><p>Of course, the whole family would be together- minus Lucien and Elain. He had returned to the Mortal Lands for more negotiations, taking his mate with him. Insisting that her sweet smiles could turn even the coldest, most closed off hearts. Azriel knew this to be true- he was a case in point- but her abrupt departure had left him emptier than before.</p><p>He knew Rhys and Cass had noticed. Neither of them had attempted to broach the subject, knowing he preferred to suffer in silence, but he’d caught both of them giving him anxious glances. Azriel hated to be a burden- with Feyre entering her sixth month of pregnancy, the focus should be on keeping her and the baby safe. Instead, he was distracting everyone with his pointless brooding. He had <i>always</i> been such a waste of damn space-</p><p>
  <i>Azriel- I need you to run checks on borders. We don’t want any of Keir’s ilk here- not tonight.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>On it, Rhys.</i>
</p><p>Brooding would have to wait.</p>
<hr/><p>“Are you sure this is a good idea, Khalida?”</p><p>“Yes, Aella. I need to seek the audience of the High Lord. Perhaps if he bothered to listen to someone with an understanding of the Illyrian practices, then-"</p><p>“You realise the High Lord is half-Illyrian himself. He may not take kindly to condescension from one of his own.” Perhaps Vada was right, but… she’d make him listen. Khalida knew she had to at least try to make Rhysand see her point of view. And if she couldn’t… there was his Court she could try convincing. The legends surrounding the Morrigan were brutal yes, telling of a warrior princess that took no prisoners, but there were also the whispers of a kind female that offered sanctuary to those that had suffered at the hands of males.</p><p>“I have to try Vada. I have to try for the females that cannot speak up for themselves.” </p><p>Enfys spoke up. “It’s the right thing to do.”</p><p>Silence fell upon the four females for a heartbeat, before Aella spoke once more.</p><p>“In that case; let’s get you both into armour.”</p><p>Mere hours later, Enfys and Khalida stood upon the top of the rocky outcrop above their cave. The wind was fierce, and the snow was falling in flurries, but they were warm. The night was pitch dark, the stars shining brightly above like beacons.</p><p>Both females were covered from head to toe in Illyrian armour. Their boots were sturdy and fur lined, and their hair held back by leather bands. They both carried packs full of supplies- food and water, and bandages, should the worst come to the worst. Khalida’s wildly curly brown hair was coiled in a tight plait, her features grim and set. Aella stood before them, legs parted, arms crossed, looking for all the world like a fierce war leader. </p><p>“The journey is not easy- at least five days by wing. During the day, be careful; male patrols will attempt to shoot you down. And once you have accomplished your mission,” Aella stared Khalida straight in the eye, her tone commanding, “you return to us. Or you send word for us to join you, if the outcome is better than you expect.”</p><p>Khalida suddenly regretted not coming to know the warrior-hearted female better. Her strength and compassion were admirable, but her determination and bravery- surviving against all odds, not allowing the bad days to win- they were traits she wanted to learn. They would meet again, she told herself. They would have the rest of their existences to spend together, to become a unit.</p><p>Perhaps, one day, a family of sorts.</p><p>As if reading her thoughts, Vada smiled at Khalida and nodded. The females embraced, promising to meet again, promising to keep safe and hidden. </p><p>Promising to return bearing a better world.</p><p>The unlikely pair leapt from the rocky outcrop, wings flaring wide as they soared into the night. It was exhilarating, freeing, being in the air again. Had Khalida not been so cautious of the males, she may have whooped for joy.</p><p>While she felt pure exhilaration, she knew Enfys did not feel the same. She pretended not to see the glimmer of tears the female left in her wake.</p><p>She didn’t have any words of comfort to offer, anyway.</p>
<hr/><p>The border check was done- all secure, as expected. There had been no trouble as Azriel had swept around the outskirts of Velaris, no hint of Keir or his Court of Nightmares. Perhaps they were all too drunk to stagger here, anyway. A quick check in with Nuala and Cerridwen told him all the wards were strong and functioning.</p><p>They couldn’t afford to take risks- not with a pregnant High Lady.</p><p>They’d released the news a couple of months ago, receiving congratulations from even the Spring Court. He hadn’t bothered to check in with Tamlin’s activities in a while- the High Lord had seemingly found himself a mate.</p><p>Azriel felt sorry for the female.</p><p>But also… a pang of jealousy. It was almost laughable, he supposed. Fate had decided to leave him alone for the remainder of his existence, just as he always had been, but saw fit to gift a male such as <i>Tamlin</i> one of the most sacred gifts of all.</p><p>
  <i>Az, the party’s about to start. You heading down?</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Only if Cassian hasn’t necked all the good wine.</i>
</p><p>An echo of laughter, then, <i>He’s currently embarrassing Nesta. Apparently, she doesn’t deem his ‘dancing’ appropriate to be seen near.</i></p><p>Azriel groaned. Cassian’s dancing really was a sight to behold, especially when he was pissed.</p><p>
  <i>I’m on my way to do damage control.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>My eternal gratitude, Shadowsinger.</i>
</p><p>The celebrations were as lively and beautiful as they were every year. The food was divine, the company perfect, the music ethereal. They’d exchanged gifts as a family before heading out into their large courtyard, already packed with all manners of faeries- their citizens.</p><p>He’d loved all the thoughtful gifts, particularly the pair of bright pink fluffy socks Mor had deemed appropriate.</p><p>Having partied and drank more than was good for him, and having been unfortunate enough to walk in on Feyre and Rhys getting just a bit too amorous in their front room, getting snarled at by the pair of them, Azriel decided that it was likely a good time for him to go to bed. Cassian and Nesta had retired- well, Nesta had dragged her mate away from the drinks bar after he’d collapsed into his ale, wings slumped onto the counter-top.</p><p>Ah yes. The General of the Night Court Forces. Able to take 20 men at once on a battlefield, completely incapable of handling his drink.</p><p>His bedroom in their home was the smallest out of his family. Feyre and Rhys had a huge suite including bedroom, a bathroom closer to a spa, and now a nursery. Mor had a bedroom and a whole separate room just for her scandalous gowns. He’d helped her organise them into sections; Appropriate for Velaris, Appropriate for the family, For the Battlefield, and his personal favourite, <i>Enough to make Keir shit himself</i>.</p><p>Cassian and Nesta’s room was… well. Nesta prioritised anything over putting things away, and Cassian enjoyed living in warrior squalor. Amren too had a room, but it was so bare that they all knew she didn’t frequent it often. Where she went, they didn’t ask.</p><p>Azriel’s room was perfect. Though the smallest, it was perfect. His large oak-framed bed, large enough to comfortably accommodate wings. His blackout blinds, so he could sit alone with his shadows. His wardrobe, sparse but with everything he could ever need. He’d grown with nothing, and even over 400 years later he still felt guilty when purchasing anything he didn’t necessarily need. It had taken Mor two centuries to talk him into buying clothing that wasn’t fighting leathers or training clothes.</p><p>Head heavy with the wine but heart lighter than it had been in decades, Azriel collapsed into bed. He was asleep before he’d even had the chance to remove his sky blue shirt- a gift from Mor several solstices ago.</p><p>
  <i>The mountains- he knew these mountains. They were freezing cold and capped with ice, the occasional fir tree cresting the horizon silhouetted against the dark night sky. The inky black was accented with bright, brilliant stars, flaring in his vision.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Why was he here? He hadn’t been this far into the heart of Illyria in centuries. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Freezing. It was so- so cold. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>His vision blacked out for a second, and when he came to he was…</i>
</p><p>
  <i>He was on a hill, looking down at his City of Starlight. Sitting down, gazing up at the stars. With such a feeling of… pain. His heart was so heavy he could feel it weighing his chest down, as if he’d never be able to stand again. He didn’t know if he had the strength to get off the ground. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>There was a small fire next to him, just the embers remaining. He was covered in a blanket that did little to keep out the chill; he could feel his bones hitting each other as he shivered. His wings were so frozen, he knew he wouldn’t be able to fly.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Despite the heaviness weighing down his very soul, he looked out at the silver lined sky with such hope and conviction in his heart.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“I’ll take over watch now.”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>He turned quickly, shocked, and caught a glimpse of Illyrian leathers and wild hair before-</i>
</p><p>Azriel woke, starting bolt upright, heart pounding, a stabbing pain echoing through his left cheek, stretching from his eyebrow down to his mouth. It was agony, but then gone before he could understand what had happened. He dreamed, some nights, often nightmares of the years spent in a cell, being broken over and over by a family that didn’t love him. But never one like this. Never one that felt so… real. He could still feel the winter breeze hitting his wings, still taste the ice in the air.<br/>
Still feel the solitary tear that had tracked down his cheek, swiped away before his companion could see. Touching his cheek, his fingers met wetness. He couldn’t for the life of him explain what had upset him- only he’d felt so connected to this pain and torture for the briefest of seconds. It was identical to what he had felt during his years of entrapment.</p><p>It was the feeling of being contained, isolated, forgotten.</p><p>Haunted by the sensation of the single teardrop, Azriel pulled his blankets tighter around himself, and fell asleep.</p>
<hr/><p>They had made it in four days- just in time for Solstice. Their rations had nearly run out by the time they had crested the hill shielding Velaris- their grand feast had consisted of dry bread and bruised apples. Still, better than starving in a cell in the camp. Khalida still counted her blessings as she counted the stars.</p><p>Better than having to <i>service</i> a male she didn’t love. But was it worth the death of her mother? A single tear slid down her cheek at the thought.</p><p>Enfys came up behind her, offering to take watch, and smiling apologetically for startling her. Khalida had skilfully swiped the tear away before she could notice.<br/>
A bone deep fatigue and chill settled into her, so she accepted and pulled her threadbare blanket a little tighter around her. Tomorrow, they’d venture into Velaris. Find an alcove to shelter in for the next night, after wandering the city. The day after that was the biannual hearing; there they would go to argue their cause, to say their piece. Confront their High Lord and Lady. The thought didn’t scare her as much as it should have.</p><p>Khalida laid down on the mountainside, staring up at the stars, wondering why, for the briefest of moments, she had felt another presence, a whisper of thought against her mind.</p><p>Just for one moment, it had felt like she wasn’t completely alone.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Do not go gentle</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Khalida explores Velaris, and the city prepares for the Great Hearing.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A long one today :)</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Slipping into the City of Starlight was almost too easy for Khalida. Slipping an easy smile on her face, covering her wings with a cloak, and linking arms with Enfys was all it took to avoid the attention of the two guards standing rigidly by the main road to the city centre. Enfys too had concealed her wings. While it wasn’t forbidden for Illyrians to enter the city, it would attract difficult questions that neither of them were willing to answer.</p>
<p>At least the cloaks kept their wings warm.</p>
<p>She honestly hadn’t known what to expect from the famed city of Velaris. She had heard the tales of the vibrant colours, the elegant, unique buildings and the eclectic mix of cultures and peoples; none of the stories did the city justice.</p>
<p>The buildings sprawled across the valley in a multitude of shapes and shades- some large, grotesquely huge, and others petite and crammed, row upon row, down narrower streets. There were magnificent theatres dotted around, the most beautiful music she had ever heard spilling out onto the streets. There was…</p>
<p>Laughter.</p>
<p>Children ran and played in the tasteful squares, partners lazily strolled about, arms linked, sipping from steaming cups, wrapped up warm in their luxurious winter coats. It was a beautiful, idyllic place. The legends had spoken true.</p>
<p>It was the most disgusting thing Khalida had ever seen.</p>
<p>While her people suffered- largely females, but the males too- Rhysand’s favoured subjects enjoyed the safety and sanctuary of Velaris. The privelaged few lived the life, while the many were left to rot.</p>
<p>As the day wore on, she found it harder and harder to remain calm, to keep that stupid benign smile on her face. Her hood covered most of the barely healed wound that marred her skin, stopping too many unwelcome stares. A quick glance at Enfys, still gripping her arm, told her that she felt the same.</p>
<p>They had been largely left alone all day, wandering the streets, and getting their bearings. They hadn’t needed to converse with anyone- not even each other. They were both too overwhelmed and shocked to form coherent sentences anyway.</p>
<p>Without warning, a rotund, blue faerie stepped directly into their path. Despite their eyes being firmly fixed on the floor, the male had decided on them as their next targets.</p>
<p>“Can I interest you two fine ladies in any of our wares? We’ve got cloaks, fur-lined, perfect for the harsh winter! Or, if I were to be so bold, would you like a pair of our leather gloves or a woollen hat?”</p>
<p>Khalida’s blood boiled. The gloves- they were made from Illyrian leather. It was blindingly obvious- the slight warm sheen that radiated from it as the gloves caught the light- that could not be replicated. That material… it was sacred to her people. And here- in this city… Rhysand was allowing anyone to wear it. Use it to craft their wares, to <i>sell</i>. The leather was worn only by her people, and only to train or fight. It was worn into battle. They bled and fought and died, protected by Illyrian leather.</p>
<p>“Where did you get that.” Enfys looked to her in shock but was ignored. Khalida shook her arm off of hers and advanced slowly towards the salesman.</p>
<p>“I’m… I’m sorry miss, I don’t understand.”</p>
<p>“That leather. That material does not <i>belong to you.</i> That is <i>Illyrian</i> Leather.”</p>
<p>People were beginning to stare. Enfys lunged for her arm once more, attempting to pull her back. Again, Khalida merely brushed her off, fixing her predatory gaze on the unfortunate faerie. He began to look more and more panicked, backing slowly away from her stalking gait. Sweat formed on his brow and began to run down his face.</p>
<p>Every inch of Khalida was screaming at her to <i>attack</i>. To take back what was rightfully hers. That material belonged to her people and no one else.</p>
<p>Her rage left her as quickly as it had arrived. They were not her people- not really. They had tried to kill her. Longing for them, attempting to continue their way… It was no longer her role. She had sacrificed that the minute she had turned and ran. The moment she had allowed her mother to die, rather than to be taken back to that camp on the mountainside.</p>
<p>Khalida relaxed her clenched fists and backed away quickly from the shocked male. Turning on her heel, she fled once more through a crowded square. </p>
<p>The shocked expressions from the innocent citizens reminded her of the stares of her people as she escaped from them forever.</p>
<p>The leather gloves, laying crumpled and discarded on the floor, reminded her of her mother’s body, limp and broken in the frost and earth.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Azriel hadn’t awoken until nearly noon- with a pounding headache. That’s what he deserved, he supposed, for drinking well into the morning.</p>
<p>The strange dream he had had still haunted him, as clear as it had been upon experiencing it. It had felt so real; the mountain, the cold, the snow. The stabbing pain on his face, the silent teardrop. Against his better judgement, he decided to find the spot he had dreamed of; at least to put his wandering mind at rest.</p>
<p>The hill was desolate and cold, just as awful as it had been in the dream. The view of Velaris was unparalleled, but it was hard to admire the frostbitten city when the same frost was settling on his sensitive wings.</p>
<p>It had all been in his head. The spot he’d seen had been right here- no evidence remained of any campfire, no footprints. Not real. The kindred spirit he had sensed had been no more than his overactive, depressing imagination, trying to cope with the fact that he was destined to be alone.</p>
<p>
  <i>Az, I thought we agreed we’d spend the day with family today.</i>
</p>
<p>Shit. He’d promised Rhys he’d stay and recuperate with the Inner Circle- and naturally play mediator in the many aggressive arguments that would no doubt occur. It didn’t hurt to have an extra pair of wings to protect Feyre, either.</p>
<p>
  <i>Sorry Rhys. Had to check something out, I’m on my way down now.</i>
</p>
<p>With a final glance at the white, glistening hillside, Azriel opened his wings and swept down towards the city slowly waking below. His boots scuffed the fine layer of freshy fallen snow as he leapt, revealing the charred remains of a campfire.</p>
<p>He didn’t turn around to see it.</p>
<hr/>
<p>That night, Khalida and Enfys slept under an alcove down one of the many winding back-alleys of the city. While she had imagined these types of paths would be dangerous and rife with crime, they were deserted, the snow undisturbed. Perhaps the High Lord had indeed managed to eradicate crime in his capital. <br/>Interesting that it seemed to remain in every other corner of his realm.</p>
<p>They had not spoken of Khalida’s outburst in the square. Enfys had caught up with her companion’s storming gait and had merely fallen into step beside her, keeping her cloak wrapped around her and her hood raised. Barely being able to see her face, Khalida didn’t dare spark any conversation with the female.</p>
<p>In fact, Enfys hadn’t said a word until they had found this small shelter. Bracing herself, she had expected to be reprimanded and shamed by the wild female.</p>
<p>“I agree with you.”</p>
<p>Khalida stopped rooting through her pack and turned to face her.</p>
<p>Enfys swallowed. “I think it’s abhorrent that they sell our lives’ work as merchandise. But screaming and shouting at them will only make it worse. Faeries don’t listen to females- especially the ones that make their lives difficult.”</p>
<p>“But how will we see change if we do not rage against injustice?” She had never understood people that didn’t, who wouldn’t fight.</p>
<p>“Change can occur with patience and discussion.”</p>
<p>“That’s not true and you know it. You want to try and <i>discuss</i> with those males, then fine. They’ll spear you to the top of a mountain peak and make an example of you just for trying.”</p>
<p>“Meeting fire with fire will not calm the blaze, Khalida.”</p>
<p>“Oh, cut the philosophical bullshit. You’re starting to sound like one of <i>those males</i>.” The words tasted foul even as they left her mouth. Enfys’s expression immediately went blank, eyes turning cold. Without another word, she turned her back on Khalida and laid down, pulling her cloak as tightly around her slim frame as she could.</p>
<p>The fire was burning through her veins too strongly, anger pushing through every pore. Why could no one understand? It made no sense. Change came when people pushed hard enough for it. </p>
<p>Tomorrow, she would face the High Lord and Lady. And she would demand answers for their actions- or lack of.</p>
<hr/>
<p>Another day of <i>festive joy with his family</i> had passed, and Azriel was almost looking forward to the Great Hearing today, just for something to do. They all attended- Feyre and Rhys of course answering direct queries, Mor alongside them to occasionally answer questions of her own. Cassian and himself would be at the base of the dais, guarding their rulers and unborn heir. Nesta would likely stand with her mate, and Amren… well, no one knew if Amren would be at this hearing. She had vanished without so much as a note, presumably to see Varian. Despite everyone knowing of their relationship, the pair preferred to keep it hidden and secret.</p>
<p>Honestly? Probably some weird kink of Amren’s.</p>
<p>The Hearing would be held, as it was every six months, at the House of Wind. Within the building was a huge chamber able to fit hundreds of individuals of any shape, size, or colour- he could almost guarantee that every single seat would be filled. The day would see the hundreds of steps leading up to the house becoming a constantly flowing river akin to the Sidra, all faeries of every shape and size making the journey up, then back down.</p>
<p>In recent years, the complaints from their citizens had been minor. A petty thief in the rainbow- he had been quickly caught and apprehended; too much fishing occurring on the banks of the Sidra- permits had been implemented. Today would be easy.</p>
<p>Hours later, standing to attention at the foot of the dais, he realised how wrong he had been. Az was bored. He wanted nothing more than to fade into the shadows- there had been no interesting discussion at all. It was even more calm and polite than previous years. </p>
<p>A sick part of him almost wanted someone to come in, all guns blazing, just so he could let off some steam.</p>
<p>Of course, Rhys and Feyre were showing no signs of tiring. The endless stream of petty complaints was met with complete understanding from his High Lord and High Lady, despite the fact the latter was six months pregnant. Mor was smiling prettily at each concerned citizen, and Cassian looked suitably threatening to deter any… more upset faeries. Perhaps it was Nesta putting everyone off; Rhys often joked her glare could turn a man to stone from twenty paces. With her world-ending power, maybe she could.</p>
<p>Minutes continued to pass, so, so slowly. Azriel could feel the shadows stirring around him, impatient, unyielding. He caught Cassian’s eye and the pair exchanged a long-suffering look.</p>
<p>He had thought the life of a Shadowsinger would be that of scandal and intrigue, something so bright that it erased the darkness in his soul; this was anything but.</p>
<hr/>
<p>“What do you mean you’re not coming?”</p>
<p>Enfys looked sheepish. “I mean, Khalida, that this is something you should do alone. I’ll go back to the hill and wait for you there.”</p>
<p>“If this is about what I said, I didn’t mean a word-“</p>
<p>“I know you didn’t mean what you said about me. But you meant every word about fighting.” Enfys paused, head in hands, and sighed. “That isn’t the life I want. That isn’t the life I’m even capable of having.”</p>
<p>Khalida was speechless. Why wouldn’t she fight for her own freedom?</p>
<p>“What did they do to you?” She asked the question hesitantly, gently pushing the wild female that bore such pain on her fragile shoulders. Enfys closed her eyes briefly, exhaling heavily.</p>
<p>“It doesn’t… It’s irrelevant to what I’m deciding to do today. This first fight belongs to you. I will wait for you on the hilltop. And when you return, we will decide where we go from there.” She looked up at Khalida then, uncompromising will in her hazel eyes, curling hair framing her face. “That is final.”</p>
<p>Knowing this was a battle she would not win, she nodded at her friend.</p>
<p>“So, I go to war alone.”</p>
<p>Enfys smiled at her, sadly. “You could go to war alone and win, Khalida."</p>
<p>The females parted ways. They did not embrace, merely clasped forearms and nodding once again before both turned from each other.</p>
<p>Neither looked back. It was not the Illyrian way.</p>
<hr/>
<p>“High Lord, I understand you can’t keep track of all of your winged kin, but could you at least attempt to enforce control over them?”</p>
<p>Azriel snapped to attention. What did this rotund, blue faerie know of his people? </p>
<p>Rhys looked just as confused, Feyre looking worried beside him. “What do you mean, my friend?”</p>
<p>“Yesterday at the market I was brutally attacked by a female. I’d tried to sell her some leather gloves and she punched me and told me that leather wasn’t mine to sell- more specifically, Illyrian leather wasn’t mine to sell.”</p>
<p>“Was she Illyrian?” Rhys was leaning forward, eyes sparking with worry. Despite himself, Azriel felt a wave of anticipation. Finally, some fucking action.</p>
<p>“I couldn’t tell- she wore a large cloak. I couldn’t even see her face under the ghastly thing.”</p>
<p>Rhys and Feyre had a rapid mental conversation, before-</p>
<p>
  <i>Heard anything about this Az?</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Nothing. I’ll speak to Nuala and Cerridwen, maybe some of the others.</i>
</p>
<p>Without missing a beat, Rhysand smiled warmly at the faerie. “Thank you for bringing this to our attention. We’ll try to find this female right away.”</p>
<p>Nodding and grumbling expletives, the blue faerie waddled away.</p>
<p>Azriel was about to winnow when every hair on the back of his neck stood up on end. There was something wrong. Something was happening, and he couldn’t understand what.</p>
<p>He noticed a flash in the corner of his eye as Amren winnowed in and stalked towards him.</p>
<p>“So, you feel it too.” He murmured, not wanting to alarm the many citizens sitting in the hall.</p>
<p>“Idiot boy. Can you not tell what it is?” She hissed at him, ridiculously huge golden earrings swinging with every aggressive syllable.</p>
<p>“Can you?”</p>
<p>“No! But I’m not a <i>rutting Shadowsinger</i>.”</p>
<p>“It feels like… it doesn’t feel bad. It feels like something monumental is about to happen.”</p>
<p>“The fabric of time itself is quaking, Azriel. Monumental is an understatement.”</p>
<p>Rhys was leaning over the dais, one hand on Feyre’s swollen stomach, and was opening his mouth to ask what the hell was going on when-</p>
<p>The great doors swung open. A tiny, hooded figure stepped cautiously into the room. A wisp of riotously curly brown hair hung limply over a shoulder, the rest of the face and hair shrouded by the dirty, dark cloak.</p>
<p>Noticing all eyes on them, the figure started. Stopped walking down the centre aisle. Looked as if they were going to retreat, but then steeled themselves and planted their feet like a tree in the centre of the hall. Then, they spoke.</p>
<p>“I wish to raise a complaint to my High Lord and High Lady.”</p>
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